


Why Nico Di Angelo Hates the Three Fates With Burning Passion

by QuenchiestCactusJuice99



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-03-25 10:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13832055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuenchiestCactusJuice99/pseuds/QuenchiestCactusJuice99
Summary: This is meant to be mostly about Nico, but I might sneak in a few other perspectives later on, just to let you guys know. Tell me what you think!





	1. This is Nico

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be mostly about Nico, but I might sneak in a few other perspectives later on, just to let you guys know. Tell me what you think!

This is Nico.

 

Black hair, draped over tired onyx eyes ringed with dark circles that stand out garishly against sickeningly pale skin.

Raised lines and deep gouges across back and shoulders and chest and stomach and arms, melted skin from burns and crisscrossed scar tissue from whips.

A breath hisses quietly from dry, cracked lips, and heavy strain on bruised ribs make the shuddering inhale difficult and agonizing.

 

This is Nico.

 

Sitting, legs crossed to hide scraped, bloody feet under black sweatpants, skin cold as ice.

Another breath rattles out of an aching ribcage and rubs painfully against a sore throat, but blank eyes stay fixed on a cave wall.

 

This is Nico.

 

He doesn’t move when another man is added to the cage or when said man tries to talk to him. He doesn’t eat because eating will only make him worse. They’ve been attempting to drug him for a while now, but the new prisoner doesn’t know that. After what seems like forever, the man stops trying. He does know that this person sees his scars and his thin frame and is horrified. He knows the man thinks that all his marks are from these ‘Ten Rings’, but he no longer cares for such trivial things as appearances.

He doesn’t know why they want this man alive because he doesn’t bother to listen anymore, and he doesn’t know why the doctor keeps trying to help them both. These two are strangers, why should they care for him?

And after the longest time, somehow, someway, he is free, and…

He sees the sun.

 

He laughs, hollow and broken yet content and whole, and he cries, sad yet still happy and happy yet still sad. He is a bitter old soul with dead eyes, yet he is still young and alive.

He stands shakily, leaning on the man who freed him and gifts him a garbled thanks, voice unused to talking in English, because he talks in Greek if at all. A heavy reminder of the thick metal band that was used to scorch a matching ring around his throat, not by any pathetic mortal but… the Pit.

Memories spike up behind his eyes unbidden, and he feels the inviting embrace of unconsciousness start to envelope him. The man who saved him – he should really learn his name, he notes tiredly – panics a bit but he can’t really bring himself to care, slipping into the realm of dreams as easily as water flows downstream with tears on his face and a smile on his lips...

 

This is Nico.


	2. Shan’t Want What We Don’t Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. I was hit by a flashflood of inspiration, so tada!

Nico is up and out before the mortals try to take him to a hospital. He’s fine, and he can take care of himself. 

(It’s not like he irresponsibly got himself kidnapped by terrorists or something equally as stupid.)

Then he heads home - not camp, because that never really felt like home, and no matter what Will or the Seven say, he knows just as well as they do that he makes the other campers uncomfortable - and the little cabin in Arkansas feels... ridiculously normal, the exact way he left it. Everything is the same. 

(Excluding the layer of dust over everything that’s going to take forever to clean off.)

It’s the same little cabin he’s been living in for at least a year, just outside of the same thick forest that he walks through all the time to clear his head, on the same cliff with the same roaring waterfall that dumps into the same aquamarine pool he likes swimming in when the forest doesn’t help, in the same cove with the same sandy mini-beach he also likes taking walks on.

Everything is the same.

...

It disquiets him. Thoroughly. And he has never been good at winding down or relaxing, so he takes his chances with forever and cleans the dust off of everything, and then organizes everything too. 

Then it’s too quiet, even with the waterfall’s only marginally dulled noise just outside, and he spends hours re and reorganizing until his hands ache and he feels more exhausted than he had with those ‘Ten Rings’, even with the minimal amount of items he actually has in this place. He has everything he needs, but he feels hollow, like a yawning cavern, and useless and-and-

And it’s so frustrating it’s almost funny. He feels hysteria start to bubble up, pushes it back down - the same way he always has, the same way - and decides that he’s probably just hungry, but then he can’t eat anything besides two apple slices, but if he isn’t hungry then why does he feel so... so...

So empty?

...

...

He does not have an answer. He has everything he needs, so why... why does it hurt so bad?

(He has everything he needs right here. He does not have all that he wants, but he does not acknowledge those wants because he has what he needs and wanting more is selfish.)

Why is he so unnerved by everything being the same? It’s the same little cabin, just outside of the same thick forest, on the same cliff with the same roaring waterfall that dumps into the same aquamarine pool, in the same cove with the same sandy mini-beach.

(He has everything he needs, and wanting more is selfish.)

It’s all the same and that should comfort him, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t, because everything is the same... except- except for him. He feels out of place, and his serene spot suddenly feels that much more not his. He is different now, since he was last here, and that... that is not something he wants to dwell on.

(He cleans and reorganizes one more time, in the vain hope that then it won’t be so much the same; the cabin will be as different as he is. It doesn’t work. After all, he has everything he needs right here. He does not have all that he wants, but he does not acknowledge those wants because he has what he needs and wanting more is selfish.)

XXXXXXXX

Nico wakes up early. It’s a rather unknown trait of his, but he is always up before the sun, despite the fact that he is not, in any way, shape, form or idea, a morning person.

He lays quietly in bed until rays of light begin to peek through his window, and then he gets up to grab the apple slices from yesterday. He’s only wearing sweatpants - the same ones he wore yesterday - when he goes outside, heading for the stairs carved into the side of the cliff perpendicular to the waterfall.

See, the cliff is made from stone, and at the bottom that stone continues for a bit on either side of the pool - currently an odd color of blue/green in the morning light - before turning to sand. 

Nico, upon reaching the ground, went to the part of the pool close to the waterfall and, subsequently, the stone enclosed part, and sat down to stick his bare feet in the cold water. He’d chosen this particular spot because he didn’t want sand all over him, and because the stone creates a ledge that he can actually sit on without getting wet. Sure, it’s a bit damp because of the spray, but that’s not as bad as having sandy and wet pants.

He manages to stomach two more apple slices before laying them out by the tree line a ways back from the water for animals to find. He’s already sick of apples.

(He very pointedly does not think about the fact that he is sick of apples because that’s the same food he had yesterday-)

He pours metaphorical bleach on the thought and takes a moment to enjoy the scenery; the trees swaying slightly in the gentle breeze, the heavy scent of dirt after a good rain, the sunlight reflecting beautifully off the water... and also magnifying it, so he really only spends approximately half a second on that particular activity so as not to burn out his retinas.

He stays down in the cove for a little while longer before he decides to go take a much-needed shower. He was a bit too preoccupied to think of it the other day, and he is just now realizing that he is caked in dried sweat from his cleaning frenzy, grime from his short-term - compared to other times - captivity, and he... he kind of stinks. Like, a lot. This will be rectified immediately, he thinks, and trudges back up the stairs.

After his - long, long - shower, he changes into a plain black shirt and jeans, and it occurs to him rather instantaneously that he hasn’t seen Reaper or Mrs. O’Leary since coming home. 

(But you don’t want it to be home, you want- he cuts off that thought, because he has what he needs, and wanting more is selfish.)

Actually, the latter isn’t too surprising, since Mrs. O’Leary is afraid of heights and he’s literally living on a cliff, albeit not a very big one, but Reaper is another story. 

Percy had Mrs. O’Leary, but he didn’t always have time to take care of the tank-sized hellhound, so sometimes Nico had to, but Reaper was his; a gift for his fifteenth birthday, one of Cerberus’ pups.

(See all that he has? He has more than what he needs, and wanting more is selfish.)

The problem was that Reaper would have come running the second he smelled his owner, so either something had happened while he was away, or he just hadn’t been noticed yet. It wouldn’t be the first time Reaper had missed him; despite him having three noses, he was an abysmal tracker, so Nico really might have actually gone unnoticed.

(The same way he went unnoticed at camp, the same way everyone seemed to forget that he was there too-)

He promptly decides that there’s no need to worry just yet and wonders what he can do today. 

(He feels the urge to re-clean and organize yet again, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should get out of the house for a while.)

XXXXXXXX

Nico, for all his ability with shadows and darkness, could not hide the blatant mark of burnt skin around his neck without wearing a scarf or something, which he did not want to do but did anyway, despite the summer heat.

(Necessity, after all, trumps want, and he has what he needs, so he does not acknowledge that want because wanting more would be selfish.)

He wanders a graveyard somewhere in Iowa, brushing his cold - he’s nearly always been cold, for some reason, but not in the sense that he needed to warm up; just that people might touch his skin and jerk back because he feels like a block of ice - fingers on gravestones to see if he can catch any lingering emotions. Sometimes, a ghost leaves behind its last thoughts or the memories of its death, and he likes to see if he can still the restless spirits, ease their burden by showing that he has seen their struggle, and he will remember them, even if their death seems meaningless.

He makes a point of remembering every single one by writing them down in his little black journal. The one coated in Mist to seem empty and short, but in reality filled with what must be hundreds of entries and full of literally endless pages. Acquired from Thanatos, with the god’s blessing after he revealed what he wanted it for. 

(Yes, he reads through it, but only as often as he dares, because he thinks death a sacred thing, not meant to be taken lightly or disregarded frivolously. And who would know, but the son of the god who ruled over the dead souls, who was seated on a throne of bones and wore robes crafted of the condemned? So he does not read it often, but he does not forget what he has read.)

He also kind of hopes that no one will bother him if he looks like he’s grieving. And he sort of is... in a round about way. If you turn it upside down and squint.

He wastes most of the day like this, and then goes back to watch the stars for a while.

(On the same cliff, beside the same cabin just outside the same forest, overlooking the same pool inside the same cove with the same sandy mini-beach - and it might make him feel out of place, but it’s all he needs, so he won’t want more, because wanting more would be selfish.)

(But at the end of the day, he’d never claimed to not be selfish.)

And when he wakes up tomorrow, watching the sunrise, it will hit him that he has nothing to do, and he will exhale a frustrated sigh and hope that he gets a job from Hades soon because he can’t take doing all this nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a good day/night!
> 
> (Cause I don’t know about you but I usually read most at night)


	3. To Forget Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To forget mistakes is to be a fool. But oh, how he wishes... oh, how he wishes he could be a fool among the worst, if only to forget this mistake.

The shadows in the room lengthened unnaturally. This set people on guard, and for good reason.

A teenaged boy walks out of the darkness, stopping in front of Thor, and clears his throat, unrolling a scroll.

(His scars are very distracting, but his message catches more stares.)

“I come by the decree of He-Who-Claims-Many. It has been brought to the attention of my father, his lieutenant, and myself that a deity from your pantheon was directly involved in the premature reaping of over eighty souls in under forty-eight hours. Said deity was not authorized to interfere with souls who had not reached their due date, and has caused severe damage to the system by illegally increasing the amount of souls ready to pass for judgement, as well as the paperwork for those souls. Usually my father’s lieutenant would take care of this, but he is occupied with the aforementioned paperwork, and that responsibility has been defaulted to me. So, I am here on the behalf of my father, his lieutenant and myself, as well as our entire pantheon, perfectly within our rights as the invaded realm, to ask what you, Thor of Asgard, and Loki of Asgard, are quite intent on accomplishing?”

Without waiting for an answer, he rolls up the scroll, sticking it in his own shadow and pulling out a stack of papers.

“You and your brother are required to fill out your forms before anything else, if you don’t want to anger the big bad,” The teen adds casually, pointing up.

Thor’s eyes widen dramatically. “I- I was not aware that your pantheon was still in existence,” The demigod tried to pacify,

“Asgard was under the impression that you had all been wiped out thousands of years ago…”

“Whether or not you knew isn’t the issue.” Nico waves a hand absently, flipping through his stack of papers. “You still have to fill out and submit your Permission forms for me to allow you to do anything else. That includes Loki. You also have a fine for trespassing, not filling out a Permission form, and use of a Norse pantheon honored tool without registering it in your Permission form. Loki has a fine for trespassing, not filling out a Permission form, unlawful reapings, use of Siedr without registering the ability in his Permission form, use of Siedr in a non-combative non-emergency situation without non-combat registration, use of a Sacred Gem, not filling out a Special Circumstances form, and a lot more.” Nico made a vague ‘aha’ sound, pulling out about a fourth of the stack. “These are your forms, sign on the dotted line, and I’ll just… be back in a bit.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.” The redhead tells him.

“I have my own paperwork,” Nico scowls back, “And I’d like to get a head start on it.”

“A moment, if you please – what is this?” Nico leans over, faintly curious. “Oh, that? Yeah, the whole rule breaking thing means you’ll be on probation. I thought you wouldn’t want, ah…” He glances at the mortals before switching to Ancient Greek for a moment. “ **A Kindly One** supervising your activities. But when I told my father that, he put me on there instead. And I can’t exactly keep track of both you and your brother at the same time, so he gets…” Nico coughs. “Well, he gets my dog, actually.” A snort from one of the mortals has him mildly affronted. “Hey, Reaper might be a terrible tracker, but once he’s fast. He can keep up with Percy’s Blackjack easily.”

With that unhelpful comparison, he crosses his arms. “By the way, as soon as you sign that paper I’m going to need it back.”

“… why?”

“Because I need to sign it too, genius.” Nico rolls his eyes with a low, “This is probably my punishment for leaving Reaper unattended in dad’s palace again. I know I said I wanted something to do but this is just ridiculous.”

Thor blinks, before turning back to his stack of papers. He picks the top piece after the one he’s holding and starts to read. Slowly, as he processes what he’s seeing, his face begins to mold into terrified, horrified confusion.

Nico cackles quietly. _I take it back,_ he thinks, _this could be fun._

Then he’s accosted by this one really familiar guy that he sort of remembers as ‘fellow prisoner’ from the most recent kidnapping. Yeah, the guy that saved him. He… still doesn’t know his name.

The point is, the guy cuts in and Nico regrets thinking he might not suffer every second he’s on this flying abomination.

But at least he’s not in danger of dying from Uncle Z. For now. He thinks.

Ah, screw it. He’s doomed. (But nothing’s happened yet!)

The man with the glowing circle in his chest – that’s primarily why Nico remembers him, though it’s definitely gotten brighter – says something along the lines of, “Where have you been?”, and all Nico can say in return is a rather blank, “Oh, it’s you. What was your name, by the way?”

The ensuing conversation went a bit like, “I’m famous”, “I don’t keep up with the news”, “I’m the son of Howard Stark, he shaped this century”, “I’m the son of the Lord of the Underworld, he watches over dead people”, “I’m Tony Stark, the billionaire”, “I’m Nico, the creepy kid who returns escaped ghosts to his dad’s domain”, “Have you really never heard of me?”, “I spend most of my time underground or actively avoiding electronics, they tend to attract things that would rather see me permanently in the Underworld”, “So your dad is literally Death?”, “Common misconception, Death’s like… a step cousin twice removed. My father watches over and occasionally judges dead souls, Death reaps and brings the souls down to the Underworld. I’m probably… his intern, or something to that effect.”

And the room is quiet for a long, long time. Then Thor starts talking.

“If you are here, is that to imply that Lord H-“ Nico elbows him in the ribs.

“Not in front mortals, Odinson,” He says cheerily, but with a promise of pain in his eyes. If he was going to constantly have to-

“Y-yes, of course. Is that to imply that your father and uncles have…” Thor looks uncomfortable. “‘Made up’?”

Nico laughs. Loudly. It sounds like he’s dying, curse his throat.

(He pretends the sudden sweat he breaks out in is from the thought of dying by Zeus, and not why his voice and throat are so damaged.)

He laughs, short but loud, then stops. “Not in the slightest,” He says flatly. Then smiles again like he isn’t insane, because he might not be whackadoo crazy but he is clear out of the boundaries of a sound mind, and perfectly aware of it.

Then Reaper bounds out of the shadows behind him and barks deafeningly loudly, tongue lolling out over razor teeth and red eyes gleaming. He continues to bark excitedly, and also still very loudly, until Nico tells him to ‘sit down and shut up, we’ve got a job to do’. Reaper sits heavily and Nico rolls his eyes.

“You know what you’re doing?” A happy bark.

“You know how important this is?” Another bark.

“So you won’t go chasing butterflies again?” A soft chuffing noise.

“Don’t laugh at me! You shouldn’t be chasing bugs anyway! You’re a hellhound!” And Nico almost doesn’t notice the person coming up behind him. (It’s not something he can let happen, ever, he can’t let anyone get the drop on him, can’t let anyone _get behind him without seeing or he’ll hurt again-_ ) He catches their hand though, and stares excessively calmly for his twisting stomach and tight throat. “Don’t touch me,” He tells the blond-haired man, as cool as he can force his voice to be when his throat is threatening to strangle him and his hands are shaking – just slightly, but he knows the man can tell – and he feels numb. It fades after a moment (like it always does) and the man pulls his arm back.

Then he really does leave, snatching Thor’s finished papers and shadows taking him and Reaper to Loki’s cell – he tells Reaper to stay out of sight and the hellhound barks a laughing affirmative before disappearing again, and he goes to submit the completed forms just as the ship begins to shake.

He decides that’s not his problem. (For completely unrelated reasons to the goosebumps on his arms where there’s _actual skin_ for them to show up on, and the way sweat drips down his face and he takes gasping breaths and swears because _he’s not weak_ , he’s _not_ , no one can make him weak.) 

 _(Except that they did, that now his voice is a twisted mess like his skin and his mind and his soul, he was weak and they took advantage of it and **look at him now**._ )

**Author's Note:**

> Have a nice day/night/whenever you're reading this!


End file.
